He was no bladesmith, just a dumb engineer trying to figure out how to counterfeit a workable sword while no one was around to second-guess him if his idea didn't work-using questionable techniques in an even more questionable environment.

Michael Rourke was in full battle gear, his handmade double shoulder rig with the twin Berettas, the knife made for him by old Jon the Icelandic bladesmith, the four-inch Smith 629 in the holster at his hip.

At a large table in the centre of the kitchen were seated some half-dozen yeomen of the guard, together with the clerk of the kitchen, the chief bargeman, and the royal cutler, or bladesmith, as he was termed.